


In which divine wrath is a turn on

by ProfessorFrankly



Series: Fluff Bingo 2019-2020 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels and demons have no gender, Aziraphale is female today, Crowley is male today, Divine wrath, Mentioned seduction of innocents, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFrankly/pseuds/ProfessorFrankly
Summary: Crowley helps Aziraphale, as usual, but gets a first kiss and a promise in reward. For Just Write Fluff Bingo square, "First Kiss."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Fluff Bingo 2019-2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1425310
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73
Collections: Just Write! Fluff Bingo, Minions' writings





	In which divine wrath is a turn on

“Well, well, well, angel,” Crowley prowled around Aziraphale, who looked … delicious.

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale asked anxiously. “I haven’t expressed this gender in centuries, Crowley.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Crowley practically purred as he offered the angel his arm. “Don’t get me wrong; I love your male form, too, but this is quite fetching.”

“I just was feeling, well, soft, I suppose,” she admitted, taking the arm offered. “I love all the lace and the silk and ribbons in this era. And you know it can be very easy to manipulate the male with a fetching female form.”

“Fie, Miss Fell,” Crowley said, escorting the angel out of the newly opened shop and to their waiting carriage. “It almost sounds like you’re up to something my lot would do.”

Aziraphale bit her lip as she allowed herself to be helped into the carriage, settling her soft blue silk skirts. As the fashion at the turn of the nineteenth century, she wore an empire waist gown, with a soft neckline that drew just above an ample bosom and capped sleeves, adorned with foamy Irish tatted lace at the neckline cuffs. Over this, a finely woven cream-colored wool cloak kept off the chill, and a matching cream cap, with the lace along the edges, framed her head, allowing soft blond curls to escape around her face. 

“Well, not quite,” the angel said, primly. She looked up at Crowley through sooty lashes, blue eyes imploring. “But I do have an idea about how to stop a particular gentleman from his wicked, wicked ways.”

“Oh, do please tell me I’m the wicked gentleman,” Crowley said, smirking a little.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said. “It’s actually the most Reverend William Smith.”

Crowley paused as he sat opposite Aziraphale in the carriage, the hitch in his stride going unnoticed as he smoothly covered the motion by settling in and tapping the top of the carriage with his walking stick. The driver obligingly started off, and Crowley tilted his head. “You do know, of course, that the Reverend Smith is almost certainly going to end up in Hell?”

“Oh, I do,” Aziraphale hastily assured him. “And he most certainly deserves it. However, I should like to put the fear of God into him to prevent further damage to the poor young things he’s seducing. Frankly, I’d also like to castrate him, but I suppose that’s not very becoming of an angel.”

Crowley raised one fine eyebrow. “Should I take care of that for you, angel?”

“Do you know,” Aziraphale said slowly, “I think I should rather like to twist the knife on this one.”

“Right, that’s enough. What has he done, angel?” Crowley asked suspiciously. “You’re not usually given to acts of vengeance. Out with it.”

“He’s left at least one of the maidens he seduced pregnant,” Aziraphale said quietly. “She was most distraught in my shop before I got the whole story out of her. She’s been turned out, of course, had nowhere to go, and I’ve managed to get her set up in a home as a widowed governess. Frankly, my dear, I had a difficult time encouraging her not commit suicide. This man must be stopped.”

“Personal, then,” Crowley said. “Well, if you’d like, I could miracle up a little accident for him.”

“No, I suspect that your lot would not take kindly to your interference in this one,” Aziraphale said composedly. “He is, after all, spreading the sort of discord that would gain many more souls in hell.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Crowley admitted. “How can I help?”

“I should like someone to be looking out as I put myself in his way, my dear, in case he has anything occult that could render me helpless,” Aziraphale said plainly. “I’m not interested in being violated or discorporated because of his wiles. Only in making him see the error of his ways. Possibly with smiting and castration. We’ll see how it goes.”

“And you couldn’t do that without a female form?” Crowley asked.

“Well, I could, but I also wanted him to see a woman in the role of avenger.” Aziraphale fussed with her lace a bit more. “I like the poetic justice of it.”

“Oh, angel, I like this side of you,” Crowley said, admiringly. “Makes me want to muss you up.”

“Indeed?” Aziraphale asked coyly.

“Indeed,” Crowley affirmed, leaning forward. “Muss you up, debauch you, have my wicked way…”

“Oh, you’re teasing,” Aziraphale frowned, deflated. 

Crowley regarded Aziraphale for a moment, weighing consequences before taking a deep breath. “‘M not, actually. Teasing. You know. You are delectable always, but something about your turning on the whole, ‘wrath-of-God’ thing, really does it for me.”

Aziraphale blushed, deeply. “Foul fiend.”

“Your foul fiend,” Crowley said softly. “May I kiss you?”

She leaned forward in response, and their lips met chastely, before the angel retreated.

Crowley held two fingers to his lips, marveling at the tingle of divine energy. “Say the word, angel, and I’ll be glad to demonstrate the many and varied kissing options available to us.”

Aziraphale tutted, and would have spoken, but the carriage stopped, in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral. “Ah, well, we’re here.” The pair looked out the window. “Ready, then?”

“Of course, angel,” Crowley said. “Let me get the door.” He reached for the latch.

“And Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“That was a very nice first kiss.”

Crowley looked back, and smiled. “It was, wasn’t it?”

He hopped out and held a hand out to her, and gently guided her out of the carriage. He offered his arm, and Aziraphale took it with a coquettish smile and a promising look from under her lashes. “Shall we?” Crowley asked.

“We shall,” Aziraphale affirmed. They strolled into St. Paul’s, where Aziraphale spotted her prey by baptismal font, and discreetly guided Crowley there. 

Crowley waited as Aziraphale introduced the Reverend, made the appropriate noises as she pointed out someone Crowley didn’t know, but of course must go and see immediately. He left her, faking trust, with the Reverend, as he departed, only to sneak around behind them and hear as she was invited to his study. He trailed them, discreetly, and grinned widely as she delivered a blistering oratory on divine wrath, effectively castrated him by making him impotent, and threatened him with the denizens of hell should he continue on his path.

“I don’t believe in hell!” the Reverend shouted, peevishly.

_ Ah, a cue. _ Crowley stepped into the room and showed his demonic form. The man went sheet white and fainted.

“Oh, good timing, my dear,” Aziraphale said, crossing to Crowley. “Do you think that will do it?”

Crowley reached out with his senses. “Still bound for hell, but I think you’ve effectively stopped his acting on the lustful, greedy, impulses of his heart. Enough for you?”

Aziraphale pursed her lips. “For now.” She straightened her skirts, then tucked her hand in Crowley’s elbow. “Take me home, please.”

“Of course, angel,” Crowley said. “Unless I could tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

“Only if you can demonstrate the kissing afterward,” Aziraphale looked up at him through her lashes, and he was sunk.

“Anything you’d like, angel. Anything you’d like.”


End file.
